Page 23 of Pin My Alpha
A humorless smile touches his mouth. “You want a professional opinion? Fine. You’re right. We can’t keep every shift exactly as it is. We’ll look at the schedule. We’ll see where we can move things. But I’m not gutting the people who helped me build this place because a spreadsheet says it’s clean.”
The word lands like a slap.
Because he’s right. Because he sounds like he means it, like he actually gives a shit about some kid named Mateo enough to stand here and fight me over three shifts a week. He cares enough about Tessa and Diego and all the rest of them that the idea of cutting them makes his jaw tighten and his eyes go hard.
It would be so much easier if he were just another alpha. The kind my mother collected. The kind who talked a big game about loyalty and taking care of what’s theirs, right up until the moment it actually cost them something.
Declan is willing to pay. For some kid who works three shifts a week. That’s not just stupid, it’s unfair.
“You’re being impossible,” I say, the words tight in my throat.
He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me, and the silence is worse than arguing. “And you’re hiding behind a spreadsheet,” he says finally.
“I’m not hiding. I’m giving you a solution.”
“No.” He takes a step toward the end of the bar, closer to me. “You’re scared.”
I should laugh. I should say something about his hero complex or his refusal to face facts. I should pack up my laptop and walk out, tell him to find another consultant who’ll coddle him.
Instead, I just stand here. “You don’t know me.”
The look on his face changes. It doesn’t soften, not exactly. It just gets… clearer. Like he’s seeing right through the bullshit I’ve layered on top. “I want to.”
No. Not allowed. My body betrays me first, as always. The flush of heat that rises in my chest. His nostrils flare slightly. Henotices, of course he does. He notices the panic before I can even name it.
I make a move for my papers on the bar, a stupid, useless gesture.
He moves faster.
One second he’s a few feet away, the next the whole world is the solid wall of his chest. He’s right in front of me, his shadow falling over my hands. I back up on instinct, and my hip hits the edge of the bar. Trapped.
He plants his palms on the wood on either side of me.
He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. He’s just… there. A solid wall of heat and muscle blocking out the light, caging me in. There’s enough room to duck under his arm. I could shove him. I could tell him to get out of my space, and the worst part is, I know he would. He’d just step back and wait.
The air between us is warm from his skin. I can feel the heat radiating off his chest, and my own skin prickles, anticipating a touch that isn’t coming. The neat columns of my spreadsheet blur into useless white rectangles.
“This isn’t about the money, Shay.” His voice is a low rumble that vibrates through the air and settles deep in my stomach.
My breath hitches. “Everything is about money.” It comes out sounding thin, desperate.
“No.” He leans in just a fraction, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide. The muscles in his throat work as he swallows. “It isn’t.”
The bite on my neck burns.
His gaze drops to it. Just for a second. It’s not the possessive, hungry look I’m used to, the kind I know how to fight.
It’s something quieter. Something that looks horribly like care.
I’d rather he looked hungry. Hunger I can understand. This is dangerous.
The way his jaw works, the faint tic of muscle under his beard. I want to put my mouth right there, on his throat, and feelthat pulse jump against my teeth. I want him to press me back against this bar until I can’t breathe, until there’s nothing in my head but the solid, grounding weight of him.
“You’re crowding me,” I say, the words tight.
He goes still for a second. Then he just… moves back. No argument, no challenge. He just gives me the space I said I wanted.
And a sick, stupid panic lurches in my gut.
